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have shredded them right there and then, but I
didn’t. Instead, I plopped onto the futon and grabbed the
stack of diary entries.
    I was asking for trouble, but there was a curiosity that was
niggling at me.
    Instead of reviewing the same set of entries, I flipped down to
some slightly different pages. These were dated even earlier, in
the name of John Gregory, my great-great-grandfather. I remembered
he died in World War I.
    A thought struck me then.
    Rummaging through the other sheets that Joan had left, I
discovered the death certificate for my grandfather and
great-grandfather. I looked at the dates. They had both been
twenty-four.
    I grabbed my father’s. Also twenty-four.
    There was nothing in my stomach, but it felt like there was lead
in there. It wanted to come up.
    At that point, I’d decided I’d had enough. I put
them down, donned the shirt, and I was out the door. I didn’t
care if my hair was still a little damp, and screw it if I was a
little early. I wasn’t staying at home any longer. I needed
to forget about this stuff because it was going to drive me
batshit.
    I marched across the street to the grocery store and grabbed an
apple caramel cheesecake. If I remembered correctly, Chris was a
huge cheesecake fan.
    So was I.
    I arrived at his condo and had to look him up in the directory.
I’d been to the front of his building, but never up to his
place. I found his number and buzzed.
    I faced the security camera and held up the cheesecake.
“Delivery!”
    His voice came over the speaker. “Is this the pizza
girl?”
    “That depends,” I said. “Would you like me to
be?”
    Did I just say that?
    The door unlocked with a buzz and I made my way up to his floor.
In the elevator, I had to wipe my palms on my jeans. When I arrived
at his door, I took deep, steadying breaths before I knocked.
    Was this really happening? Should I be here? Was I asking for
trouble?
    I raised my hand to knock, but the door opened.
    Chris stood there in nothing but a white towel wrapped around
his waist, and I had a really hard time not showing what I was
thinking.
    I’d suspected his body was well developed. Even with
clothes it was obvious his muscles were impressive. Now I could see
I’d underestimated him.
    I didn’t know where to put my eyes — his shoulders,
his chest, his arms, or those green shining eyes that were staring
right through me. I turned three different shades of red and had to
force my mouth closed.
    He looked coy. “I was expecting the pizza girl. That
doesn’t look like pizza.”
    I didn’t know what to say. My tongue was stuck to the roof
of my mouth.
    He opened the door fully. “But, I like you
better.”
    I stepped in, still saying nothing. His eyes wouldn’t stop
smiling.
    Oh my god.
He was enjoying this
.
    I pulled myself together. “You going to stand there in a
towel or take this cheesecake?”
    His eyes hinted mischief. “Well, I could let go of the
towel.”
    “How about you just show me where the kitchen is,” I
said. I was afraid he’d actually let go and I wasn’t
sure I was ready for that yet. Although I couldn’t stop my
eyes from looking at a certain part of his towel that seemed larger
than it did when I’d arrived at the door.
    He laughed. “It’s around the corner,” he said
pointing. “I’ll join you in a sec.”
    I took one last look at the towel, then those green gems, and
made for the kitchen. I took a couple of deep breaths as I
walked.
    I had better not be reading those vibes wrong.
    I couldn’t be. There was no way.
    On the way to the kitchen, I took in the place. It certainly had
a male feel, but it was impeccably neat. I figured he must have a
maid. No man I knew was this neat, other than Geoff. And, well, he
was gay.
    Unlike the pale blandness of my apartment, the walls here were
painted in rich colors — green, blue, and even crimson in the
dining room. The furniture was modern, with a tendency towards an
espresso theme. I knew he made a good living at a